Somewhere Over the Rainbow, I've Lost My Damn Mind: A Manic's Mood Chart by Derek Thompson

psychologist, I felt so lost and confused with this whole thing that I agreed to go, partly to entertain my parents’ wishes, partly to look for answers, and partly because I felt it was the responsible thing to do. Granted, I did not have the best experience with my medical care in Denver. But that was probably due to the fact that at the time, I could not come to terms with the BMD diagnosis and therefore felt that I was not different and did not need any help--strike one. However, after hearing that my mom had gotten me into THE Ohio State University Harding Hospital, even though I had no referral and the wait list was about six months, I figured it was a good thing. She has a gift for persuasion; some would use other terms to describe it, but it’s definitely a gift.
    Sitting in the waiting room with nothing to read and no idea of what my doc looked like, I kept pulling the fake stand-up move whenever someone would walk by and make eye contact with me. Finally, a shorter man with glasses and a beard walked into the room and beckoned me to follow. I figured I had nothing to lose, so I followed.
    We entered his office, and I asked if he was doc so-and-so (that wasn’t really his name, but I’m a man of ethics and decided to respect his privacy) and he replied yes. He explained to me that he didn’t use names in the waiting room for confidentiality reasons. I didn’t get it. I was in the mental health hospital at THE Ohio State University. It’s safe to say the majority of people around me had a good idea of why I was there, but que-evs, it was a nice gesture nonetheless.
    He opened the conversation by asking me to tell him what happened and who I was in a nutshell (that’s ad lib, he really didn’t say nutshell). I was a little set back because I wasn’t sure how to answer. For some reason, I felt embarrassed and uncomfortable in this procedural-like interview process. It felt almost as if the doc had a standard set of questions to ask with no real interest in the answers, only that there was an answer so that he could make his way to the next question. I started out by telling him my name, where I was from, where I went to school, what I had been doing with my life, and recalling as many details from my episode as I could. It did get easier to talk to the doc as the conversation continued, but I never felt comfortable with it.
    I felt ashamed of myself for what had happened, and nothing about being in that office made me feel any differently. That was probably my fault. Just as I had no expectations from the lack of reading material in the waiting room, the feelings of no expectation were the same in the office: there wasn’t any chemistry between us. While these feelings of emptiness were out of my control, I could have handled the situation better.
    I ended up heading back a few times to Harding Hospital, but then I took a job in The Nasty and stopped my meetings with the doc. I wouldn’t all together change anything in my life, but at times I do wish I had done a few things differently. If I could do over that initial meeting, I
     
 
    would walk in with my head high, chest out, and a smile on my face and started out by saying:
    “ My name is Derek Thompson. I was raised in South Charleston, Ohio and was recently diagnosed with bipolar disorder type I; which is considered a mental illness by some, but I wouldn’t have it any other way. This is my story . . .”
     
     
    Session
     
    JP: Getting treatment for bipolar disorder is not a one-time effort. Bipolar disorder is a chronic illness, meaning that people with the disorder need to take medication and visit with their doctors routinely for their entire lives. Here are some questions that may help you decide on the right doctor or other health care professional for you:
     
Do you feel comfortable when you are with this person?
Do you respect this person’s knowledge?
Do you trust this person’s judgment?
Do you believe this person will do his or